


pray your soul to keep

by tanyart



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 15:32:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19815208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Drifter sees a ghost.





	pray your soul to keep

There’s a new Gambit player who looks like Judson.

He’s taller. Bigger. Got some weight that Judson never had, starving in Eaton. But that’s what Ghosts prefer, don’t they? Gotta be strong enough to wear all that armor and hold a gun or two. 

He’s new ‘round these parts, but he doesn’t ask about Gambit. Likely has friends who’s told him all about it. 

Your mouth twists. Business is good, business is booming. All he does is take up your bounties. You look at him again, just make sure you aren’t going crazy. And because you can’t help it.

Dead to rights, swear to the stars — same eyes, same short tempered look, same inflection when he talks to the Ghost at his shoulder. You wonder if he’ll notice you two have the same accent.

You can’t say anything. You won’t say anything. Because you already know, deep in your deadened heart, that the thing in front of you isn’t Judson. It will never be Judson. Because all the Traveler does is take your memories and take your life to meld it into whatever it wants.

It took Judson, and made him something else. Oryx might've been wrecking havoc all over the system with _his_ Taken, but everyone likes to ignore the fact that the Traveler was doin' it first.

You send him the bounties he requests, with an old gut-searing  _ hate _ thrumming through your veins. You haven’t felt this angry in a very long time and it’s shooting deep into your bones like a physical pain. You could puke from it.

“Hey,” says the thing that’s not Judson. “You doin’ alright? Your hands—”

You clench your fists to still them. Remember that you have the coins. Start flipping them, keep your fingers busy. Your voice is sharp, echoing; “You here to waste my time or play Gambit?”

The thing that took Judson blinks. He doesn’t look hurt. Figures the broken orb in the sky took that away from him, too.

“Woah, okay. Okay. Damn, settle down,” says not-Judson, unruffled. The old Judson would’ve given you the finger. He gives you a look — no doubt you’re white as a sheet — and to your immense bitterness, he’s tactful; “Didn’t mean to pry.”

There’s an overwhelming urge to ask if he’d Risen in a broken down barn, surrounded by empty bullet casings, a burnt scar at his side, and the earth around was scorched to ash to match the wound.

You want to ask if he still fights with a rabid desperation to live. If he’ll still bare his teeth against unthinkable pain or run from danger for another chance at life, still clinging with every breath, always fighting death’s escape. 

But you’ve already seen him play Gambit, killing other guardians and dying from them. You already know he doesn’t. 

The thing that isn’t Judson will never be Judson again. Your vision sharpens, your deadened heart beats steady again. You look at this titan in the eyes. You let it go, and Judson disappears.

There’s a new Gambit player who looks like no one you know.


End file.
